


Déjà vu

by Bonne_Niviati



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:35:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonne_Niviati/pseuds/Bonne_Niviati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altair makes some careless mistakes in his work, and is duly punished and rewarded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Déjà vu

Malik’s bureau was the closest safe point from his current position. There was no time to waver. Altair raced across the Jerusalem rooftops, keeping as low as he could in the midday sun. His destination was absolute, even more so as an arrow whistled past his head.  
He leapt over the gap between two sun drenched buildings, and saw the glimmer of the ceiling grate that marked the hideout just out of his reach.  
There were calls of “assassin!” and “infidel!” as he raced towards the grate with a second wind of stamina, dropping down and rolling the last few meters all in one practiced, polished motion.  
He fumbled with the fastenings on the ceiling entrance to the bureau, the adrenaline of the chase made his hands shake.  
“There!”  
Altair looked up; one deft solider had bridged the gap and was closing fast, sword drawn and pointed at Altair’s bent over figure.  
But he had undone the grate, and without a second thought dropped down onto the safe ground of Malik’s den.

 

Altair took a moment to splash some of the cold water from the fountain on his face before meeting with the quick tempered Dai.  
It was a hot day today, summer was fully in bloom.  
He wiped his face, and exhaled heavily.  
It was all he could hope for not to be on the receiving end of Malik’s harsh tongue this afternoon.  
After all, he had done well.  
Altair shook himself before standing and stepping into the main room of the bureau, he felt Malik’s piercing gaze on him immediately and quickly diverted his own to the shelves of dusty tomes behind him. Strange how he could look a man in the face before taking his life, but could not meet the eyes of his comrade, a man he cared so much for.  
 _No_ , he pushed the thoughts aside; they had no place in his mind anymore, not after what he had done.  
“Safety and peace, Malik.”  
Malik raised an eyebrow and paused in his cartography, completely unphased by the water dripping from Altair’s face or his shallow breath.  
“You’ve been gone for some time.” Malik said, dropping his eyes back to the maps. His voice was devoid of any true concern.  
Altair frowned.  
“I have learnt much, brother. In fact I believe I have everything I need to carry out this deed.”  
“Truly?”  
Altair approached the desk, fumbling in his pockets for the haggard parchment note found on the body of the old Warlord’s sell-sword.  
“Jazhir will be at the top of the tower in the rich district at dawn to pray, with only a small compliment of guards. It is then when I will strike.”  
“A simple job, do this well, Altair.”  
“May I rest here?”  
Malik looked up once again, and his eyes caught Altair’s.  
There was almost a smile.  
Altair breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Of course, you’ve earn...”  
A creaking noise from behind in the main chamber caught both assassins attention. Altair, who Malik had shot a look of venomous suspicion at, had taken but a few steps before he remembered all too late, his small respite of relief vanishing immediately.  
 _He hadn’t closed the grate to the den properly._  
“Assassins! I’ll have your heads!”  
The nimble assassin from the rooftop chase drew his blade above his head and charged at Altair with a disgusted scowl.  
Altair fumbled for a blade, for a dagger, for _anything_ , but the soldier was too close, he would not have the time to strike.  
He stared into the rage-filled eyes of the soldier, tensing and preparing himself to dive out of the range of his attack.  
He just had to time it right.  
There was a whooshing sound, a glint of silver whirled past Altair’s eyes, striking down the soldier with considerable force.  
The body slumped to the floor with a familiar dull sound, Altair whirled round to see Malik, face unreadable, arm still outstretched from throwing the small knife.  
“Malik, I...”  
“Silence, novice!”  
The Dai stalked past Altair to retrieve the knife from the soldier’s body, and rifle through any belongings on his person.  
Altair wiped his face again, able to do little more then gape at what had just happened so quickly.  
“You’re damn lucky there was only one!” Malik hissed as he stood upright.  
“Only he saw me come here, I assure you.”  
“You’d better be right!”  
“You doubt me too often.”  
“With good reason.” Malik said dangerously as he pushed past Altair.  
“Malik.” Altair pleaded, touching the assassin’s shoulder as he passed. “I did not mean to endanger you, not again.”  
Altair knew he should have kept quiet as Malik whirled around to fix him with a glowering glare.  
“You dare?”  
A swift arm to the neck had Altair pinned to the wall in a matter of seconds, he dared not try and resist. Altair tried his best to match the fiery glare with one of cool contempt, but he felt himself faltering. He knew Malik was strong, merely _allowing_ him to breathe and at any moment he could take that privilege away.  
“You say you intended no danger to befall me, but that never seems to be the way of things, does it?” Malik said quietly.  
Altair winced; he sounded more hurt then angry.  
“You’ll have to take my word Malik.”  
His expression softened.  
“That’s what I did last time.”  
“I’ve apologised for what happened in the temple, countless times.”  
Malik dropped his gaze, and drew closer.  
“It’s going to take more then that.”  
Something twisted in Altair’s gut as he brought his hand up to rest on Malik’s neck, it was risky, but he made no move except to continue staring at the floor.  
“Just tell me what.”  
Malik remained silent, but the hostility had long since dissipated. Altair bent in closer, and with a light touch lifted Malik’s face up at his own.  
The Dai said something in a voice barely more then a whisper, a low, vulnerable sound that didn’t quite catch Altair’s ears.  
Malik closed his eyes as Altair drew closer still.  
 _He could feel his breath._  
But it didn’t last, the embrace never came.  
Malik tore away without meeting Altair’s eyes, skulking off to the private chamber of the bureau.  
“Go close the grate. Now.”

 

Altair continued his ascent of the tower steps, flying up them two at a time and only stopping to send the occasional lazy guard falling to their deaths through the carved and adorned window arches.  
Jahzir’s guards were clearly lacking in discipline, sloppy - not at all competent. Altair’s resolve sharpened, this would be a good kill.  
Before long the stairs had levelled out and Altair came face to face with a magnificently ornate door, which swung open for him with little resistance.  
Altair slowed his pace as he entered the highest room in the tower, beautifully decorated with fine rugs and tapestries, it was the room of a wealthy man, a wealthy warlord, and sure enough, through another open doorway on the opposite side of the room, sat upon the balcony was Jahzir, facing the open sky and softly chanting.  
But all the prayers in the world wouldn’t save him now, for Altair’s animal instinct had long since taken over.  
He was a hunter, and he had found his pray.  
He masked his footsteps as he strode across the glistening stone floor, but he had taken no more then five steps before Jahzir raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.  
“I know you are there, assassin. You’re not as subtle as you’d like to believe.”  
“It matters not; I have you where I need you.”  
Altair closed in on the old warlord, dressed in the handsome garments bought with blood money and blackmail.  
Did he have some final words to speak?  
He was a traitor; no words could convince Altair otherwise.  
Jahzir stood upright, and turned around, opening his arms as if to embrace Altair, who watched with a furrowed brow.  
“Slay me then. My revenge will be swift.”  
 _How unoriginal._  
“Find peace,” Altair began, closing the gap between them and readying his hidden blade. “In death.”  
Two brisk steps and a flick of the wrist ended Jazhir’s life.  
The blade met no resistance as Altair sank it into the old mans chest. Jazhir’s blood stained his robes, crimson blossoming on his chest like a rose opening up for the spring.  
Altair lay him down on the cold stone floor, and closed his eyes gently, and, as was the custom with all his targets, dabbed a white feather into the blood of Jazhir’s wound.  
 _Nice and tidy._  
The assassin took some time to admire the orange sunrise slowly rising over the tops of the Jerusalem towers, funny how a sunrise should mark the end of his day’s work.  
Altair was about stand up; when he heard thundering footsteps racing up the tower stairs.  
He kept low, and unsheathed a small dagger.  
“ALTAIR! STAY DOWN!”  
The words reached him mere moments before a shrill battle cry pierced the quiet of the dawn, a small, lithe soldier leapt over the balcony fence much to Altair’s surprise.  
“Murderer!” he screamed, launching himself at Altair.  
Altair rolled out of his path, seeing a small silver blade fly over his head as he did so, striking down the soldier in the one place he wasn’t armoured; the neck.  
 _Hadn’t he seen that happen before? In the bureau?_  
He hardly dared to believe it.  
A hand clapped him on the back, urging him to stand up.  
“Are you hurt?”  
“No,” Altair turned round, and faltered a few steps backwards. It was Malik. “What are you doing here?”  
Mailk frowned, still breathing heavily. He reached into the pocket of his robes, and produced a small note with messy handwriting that looked like it had been folded up dozens of times.  
“An ambush.”  
“Ambush?” Altair said, surprised, immediately springing over to the edge of the balcony to check for any more soldiers.  
“After you left I checked the body of the man we killed in the den, ad found the note. There was only meant to be one, Altair, or so it says here. He’s the only one that can scale this kind of building from the outside.”  
Altair scanned the horizon, but it was early, there were no figures patrolling the rooftops. Yet.  
But he carried on looking skywards, not daring to turn around; he was frozen to the spot. Malik had saved his life for the second time in two days.  
He had no idea what to say to him.  
Rather, he knew what he _wanted_ to say...  
“Altair are you hurt?” Malik asked a second time, his growing impatience becoming apparent.  
“No, not even a scratch.”  
“Then let’s be gone from here, we’ve lingered too long as it is.”  
Altair exhaled heavily, nodded, and turned around.  
Malik returned his curt nod, and made to descend down the tower steps. Altair felt a knotting sensation in his gut; surely he couldn’t let him leave without at least thanking him for saving his life.  
“Malik, wait.”  
The Dai stopped, fixing Altair with another unreadable look.  
“Novice?”  
The word made Altair frown, even more so when he saw Malik smile slightly, having gained his desired reaction.  
“I just wanted to say thank you.”  
Malik stared vacantly, stepping out of the archway of the stairs and back into the room. Altair followed from the balcony, his words didn’t need to be shouted from one end of a room to another.  
“That seems unlike you.”  
“Malik if you weren’t here...”  
“I was just doing my duty to the Creed.”  
“... or if you had turned up a second later...”  
“Think nothing more of it!”  
“... I wouldn’t even be standing here right now...”  
“I actually do my best to uphold the tennets.”  
“... Malik, I owe you everything, more then I...”  
“Stop talking, novice!”  
Malik had snapped, and forced Altair into the wall with no mercy, pressing down on the assassin’s throat with unexpected strength.  
Altair could only gape, this was all too familiar.  
 _Why was everything repeating itself?_  
“Malik, I...” Altair began, keen not to rile the Dai any further.  
“Silence!” he hissed causing Altair to wince.  
 _That hadn’t gone well._  
Altair tried to calm his breathing, tried to hold that passionate gaze.  
And for a moment, it worked; Malik’s anger gave way for something more raw, repressed and dangerous.  
“You talk too much,” Malik said. His voice was different now, less sharp, huskier. He removed his arm from Altair’s neck, but drew closer. Altair saw his chance, could feel his heart in his chest as he took Malik’s face in his hands.  
The air was heavy with silent anticipation.  
“Your words are empty.” Malik whispered.  
Altair smiled at that, at the familiarity.  
Their kiss was tentative at first, Malik held back, but as Altair’s other hand found its way to the small of his back and gently pulled him in closer, he warmed to Altair, let him widen the kiss, let him explore his mouth with an adventurous tongue.  
Malik’s hand found the hood of Altair’s robe, and pulled it down, entwined his fingers in the short hair, pulling them closer, deepening their embrace.  
Their breaths intermingled, soft moans and gasps...  
Their hips came together...  
But then Malik pulled away with a soft sigh, letting his hand trail down Altair’s face, fingers lingering slightly on the assassin’s lips.  
Malik bowed his head; the ghost of a smile on his face, Altair exhaled loudly, a completely different sensation in his gut now. Hunger, desire...  
With a shudder he pushed the thoughts away, watching as Malik’s chest rose and fell frantically; pleased knowing it was he who stirred such emotion. They exchanged content, lazy glances, before Malik slowly turned, and began walking across the room to the stairs.  
“What’s your rush?” Altair asked, trying, and failing, to hide his smile.  
Malik tilted his head.  
He smiled a full, beaming smile.  
“I think I might have left the ceiling grate open.”


End file.
